


never again

by Twice_before_Friday



Series: Altered & Extended - season 1 [10]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Episode: s01e10 Silent Night, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Stand Alone, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:40:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23734762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice_before_Friday/pseuds/Twice_before_Friday
Summary: Takes place in episode ten after Bright unthinkingly puts the gun to his head at the crime scene.It brings up some very bad memories for Gil.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Series: Altered & Extended - season 1 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557952
Comments: 39
Kudos: 227





	never again

**Author's Note:**

> First off, this deals with a past suicide attempt, so please don't read it if that's going to be a trigger. 
> 
> All works in this series are stand alone. You don't have to have read the others to read this one.
> 
> Thank you to KateSamantha and TheCosmicMushroom for the beta, you guys made this so much better. 
> 
> And an especially BIG THANKS to Cosmic for keeping me from deleting everything and walking away from writing altogether. Your support is very much appreciated.

_He wouldn't have been looking at the victim. He would have turned away. Out of shame._

_Woah. Bright! Put the gun down, now._

_It's not – oh, wait. It is. Sorry._

_Do you have any idea how stupid that was?_

\---

Bright is quick to explain his theory about a third person in the hotel room - how the killer came in fast, hit Turner, used his gun to shoot Emily, and then made it look like Turner killed himself out of guilt.

"This wasn't a murder-suicide," Malcolm concludes. "It was a double-homicide."

Gil strives to appear calm while his heart is threatening to beat right through his ribcage, and his stomach is trying to make a quick exit through his mouth, leaving him swallowing back the bile that's forcing its way up his throat. The best he can manage is a terse, "Prove it."

He manages to excuse himself without making a scene but walks at a pace that falls on the wrong side of brisk for an upscale hotel as he heads for the elevator. He pushes the down button and then hits it five or six more times for good measure, his breath coming faster as he waits. There's a pressure building in his chest that makes him want to vomit or hit something, or maybe just drop to his knees and scream at the heavens. It's filling him with a restless energy that he's not quite sure how to bleed off.

The elevator doors finally open, and he steps inside, mashing the button for the ground floor then the 'close door' button as he sees Malcolm walk out of the crime scene at the end of the hall. He knows they're going to need to talk, but he's not ready for that conversation, not when the fear is so fresh.

When the doors open to the lobby, he blows out a sharp breath and exits at a more sedate pace, an attempt to ensure he doesn't alarm the guests or staff. The lobby is full of Christmas cheer — shining decorations and joyful smiles that Gil doesn't even register as he moves in a trance with one goal in mind. He makes his way quickly past the reception desk and out to the street, heading straight to where his car is parked at the end of the block.

He fumbles with his keys as he tries to unlock the door, hands shaking with the aftereffects of the spike of adrenaline that hit him in the hotel room. Embarrassingly, it takes him a couple of tries before he can get the door unlocked, the key slipping past the lock and scratching a line in the flawless black paint. When he finally gets it open, he sinks down into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut behind him to block out the sounds of traffic and pedestrian bustle from the street that had amplified and scraped at his skin. He grasps the steering wheel with both hands, stiff grip bleeding the colour from his skin and leaving his knuckles white as he tries and fails to suck a single deep breath.

He's just beginning to feel like he's not about to implode when there's a light rap on the passenger window. It's not a surprise to see Malcolm bending at the waist to look in at Gil, concern creasing his brows, but that doesn't mean it's a welcome sight, either. Nonetheless, he leans over and unlocks the door before dropping back into his seat and re-affixing his hands tight on the wheel. Bright pulls the handle and slips into the car, but Gil ignores him, keeping his eyes firmly fixed out the front windshield even though he's not actually seeing the world outside.

"Gil, I'm sorry," Malcolm says quietly, hands twisting anxiously in his lap.

Gil can tell the kid means it, but it doesn't take away the fear and the worry and panic that's still swirling through his system, making it impossible to release his grip or relax his clenched jaw. He doesn't answer right away — _can't_ answer right away — continuing, instead, to stare out the window and practice some deep breathing techniques he’d picked up from Bright, curiously enough, back when he was in therapy as a child.

Malcolm seems to take the hint and sits quietly until Gil is ready, though his hands fidget non-stop in his lap until Gil can't handle the guilt that's rolling off of the kid in waves. He blows out one last breath and turns in his seat.

"You could have died," Gil grits out between his teeth. Malcolm opens his mouth to apologize, but Gil cuts him off with a sharp look and presses on, "You're FBI trained, and you put a loaded gun to your head. I _know_ you understand the importance of gun safety, and you still put a loaded fucking gun to your head!" Gil slams a fist against the steering wheel so hard that it shakes the car and sets off an aborted honk of the horn.

Malcolm has the good sense to look abashed as he leans towards Gil, his eyes pleading for Gil to understand just how terrible he feels. "Gil, I am so sorry. I got carried away with the profile, and I swear I didn't realize it was loaded."

Gil knows that Malcolm tends to get drawn into his own head when he's working and doesn't even doubt that he's telling the truth, but that's still not acceptable. And it doesn't erase the images flickering through Gil's mind of Malcolm's grey matter splattering all over their crime scene.

"Jesus Christ, kid, that's not good enough. Even if it _hadn't_ been loaded, you don't put a gun to your head! Ever!" He's nearly breathless with anger as he recalls the fear that he’d felt in the hotel room, standing behind Malcolm, watching helplessly, as he’d raised that gun to his head.

It was the exact same powerlessness and terror he’d felt nearly 15 years ago when he’d almost lost Malcolm the same way.

Closing his eyes, Gil forces himself to focus on the fact that Malcolm is safe, that the gun didn't go off — then or now. Even still, it takes a moment before Gil can speak without feeling like he's about to lose control of his precariously held emotions.

"You know how much you scared me last time," Gil whispers. It's all he can manage.

He opens his eyes to see Malcolm's face pinch with pain and regret. It wasn't Gil's intention to rehash the past, but he needs the kid to understand what this does to him. Because he's not sure his heart can handle this happening ever again.

"I know, Gil. I'm sorry," Malcolm says again, reaching across the car to wrap a hand over Gil's on the steering wheel, "I didn't mean to make you feel like that again."

Gil scrubs a hand over his goatee and slumps back in his seat, the tension abruptly evacuating his muscles, leaving him exhausted and deflated as he thinks back to that life-changing day nearly 15 years ago. Even now, all these years later, he feels the bile rise in his throat and sour his mouth if he thinks too hard about what could have happened if Jackie hadn't forgotten her necklace, or if Gil had been only a few minutes later.

***

Malcolm had been a little off ever since he showed up on their front step earlier that afternoon. Nothing overtly concerning, but enough that little warning bells were sounding in Gil's head. He'd spent the better part of the afternoon trying to coax the kid into talking, into opening up about whatever it was that was weighing so heavily on his mind, but, like all teenagers, Malcolm had perfected the art of the one-word answer.

Gil and Jackie would have to leave soon if they were to make it to the theater in time, but Gil was suddenly having second thoughts about date night, worried about leaving Malcolm alone.

Jackie was putting the finishing touches on her makeup in the bathroom, a swipe of sheer, red gloss over her plump lips, when Gil stopped in the doorway, bringing a finger to his lips and gesturing for her to follow him down the hall to their bedroom. She followed without a word, waiting until he shut the door behind them before she raised an eyebrow in question, clearly confused by the sudden covert movements.

"I'm worried about Malcolm," Gil said, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn't carry to the living room where the kid was mindlessly flipping through the TV channels. "Something feels… off."

"Off how?" Jackie asked, stepping closer and taking his hand in hers. She didn't question Gil's judgment; after so many years honing his instincts with the NYPD, she trusted her husband implicitly.

Gil used his free hand to scrub over his beard, sighing as he tried to put into words the uneasy gnawing in the pit of his stomach. He honestly couldn't pinpoint any one thing, but his gut was telling him that things weren't quite right.

"I don't know," he shrugs helplessly. "He seems… withdrawn."

Jackie winced, not _wanting_ to say it but needing to: "Love, he always seems withdrawn. But if you think we should stay, then we should say. We can move date night to your next weekend off." She gave his hand a squeeze, letting him know that she wouldn't mind, that she'd rather stay home if he thought Malcolm needed them.

Gil felt terrible about even considering cancelling; he knew how much Jackie had been looking forward to the show. Gil's schedule was so hectic that date nights were hard to plan in the first place, but they also splurged for this one, getting tickets to a Broadway show rather than their usual dinner and a movie. They'd been planning this night for nearly three months.

"What if I'm just overreacting?" Gil said, realizing that he really had no reason to think something was wrong. He could just be jumping at shadows, and he didn't want to ruin Jackie's night because of a hunch about a moody teenager.

"Why don't we go sit down and talk to him?" Jackie suggested, always one to ask Malcolm how he was feeling and what he wanted, rather than making assumptions like so many others in his life had. "I know you've been trying to get him to open up all afternoon, love, but maybe we should just ask. It could just be a crush or trouble with a teacher again."

Once again, Gil was struck by just how much he loved the woman in front of him. Ever the practical one, even though she ran purely where her heart led her. He didn't even have a chance to agree, before Jackie added a caveat:

"And if your gut is still saying that there's a problem, then we can give the tickets to my sister and just have a movie night in. Alright?" Jackie took another step closer, wrapping her arms around Gil's waist and tilting her head up to look at him with an earnestness that told him just how seriously she was taking the situation.

Gil leaned down and gave her a quick kiss, heart lightening at her airy laugh as she swiped away the red stain her lipstick had left.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they made their way down the hall, surprised to find the living room empty when they turned in. Gil was about to call out when they heard the sound of the microwave beeping in the kitchen. Shooting each other identical surprised looks, Gil and Jackie continued into the kitchen, pleased to find Malcolm settling himself at the table with a reheated piece of lasagna leftover from the night before.

"You guys look nice," Malcolm said when he looked up to find Gil and Jackie both looking at him with raised eyebrows. "I hope you don't mind that I raided the fridge," he added, gesturing to the small piece of lasagna on his plate.

"Sweetheart, you know you're welcome to anything in the fridge. This is your house, too," Jackie said, moving further into the kitchen to join him at the table, stopping beside him to press a kiss to his forehead and once again using her thumb to wipe at the lipstick stain left behind. "I'm just happy to see you eating."

While Jackie pulled up a seat beside Malcolm, Gil leaned against the doorframe, watching the way Malcolm reacted to Jackie's gentle questions, noticing that there was still a sadness in the kid's eyes that was far too heavy for a 16-year-old to be carrying, but that otherwise, he seemed fine.

"Are you doing okay, Mal?" Jackie asked, reaching out to wrap her fingers over Malcolm's free hand, the one that wasn't using a fork to pick at the food on his plate. Malcolm ducked his head for a moment, leaving Gil unable to see his reaction, but when he looked up, there was a small smile on his face, though Gil would swear it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'm fine," he assured them. "Sorry if I was a little irritable earlier."

Jackie squeezed his hand, giving him a smile that said it was all good, but Gil pressed on.

"Everything okay at home? At school?" Gil asked from where he was perched at the doorway, arms crossed over his chest in a way that came naturally from years spent in an interrogation room. Jackie looked at Gil with a pinched mouth, and he dropped his arms to his sides, taking on a far less inquisitorial stance.

"Yeah, it's fine. School is busy with all the exam prep and final assignments coming due, but it's good," Malcolm said, looking Gil in the eye and adding, "Mother and Ainsley are doing well, too."

The three of them spent a few more minutes talking, Malcolm taking the occasional bite of his food until he finally asked, "Don't you need to get going?"

Gil looked to Jackie, but she just shrugged, leaving the decision in his hands. He felt better about leaving Malcolm alone now that they'd talked. The fact that Malcolm obviously felt well enough to eat, even if he was mostly just pushing the food around his plate, also put Gil's mind at ease. Gil decided to take a page out of Jackie's book and just ask the kid directly, just to be sure.

"Are you sure you're alright with us going out? Because we can stay if you want us to." Gil tilted his head as he offered, trying to get a better read on Malcolm.

Malcolm just waved him off, saying "I'm fine, Gil. Probably gonna call it an early night. You guys go, enjoy date night. You deserve it."

"You're sure, sweetheart?" Jackie asked, running her fingers over his knuckles where his hand rested on the table, giving him a chance to change his mind.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Go," Malcolm said, making a shooing motion with his hand to get them moving.

Gil nodded at Jackie, and she got to her feet, placing a warm hand on Malcolm's shoulder for a moment before she walked over to join Gil. He always envied the easy way that Jackie was able to provide physical comfort to the kid — small touches, like the way she held his hand and gripped his shoulder. When Malcolm was younger, Gil had done much the same, but as he became a teenager, growing into a man, those easy physical gestures happened less frequently. He missed being able to comfort Malcolm the way that Jackie still so easily did.

Jackie slipped next to Gil, wrapping her arms around his waist and said, "Shall we?"

Gil cast one last inquiring glance at Malcolm but couldn't find any reason not to go, so Gil said, "You call if you need anything at all, you hear me?"

Malcolm's eyebrows drew together and he looked like he was going to say something for just a moment, but then he just took a bite of lasagna and waved his goodbye as he chewed. Gil and Jackie turned and headed for the front door, a whisper of, "I love you," following behind them so quietly that Gil wasn't entirely sure he heard it at all.

Gil held Jackie's coat, the wool and cashmere blend that she only ever wore on special occasions, out for her in the front entryway, and she turned around to let him slide it up her arms and settle it on her shoulders. She was a beautiful woman, always, but on the rare occasions that she dressed up for an event, she was on a whole new level. She'd pinned her curly hair in an updo that somehow made Gil think Grecian Goddess, with a handful of tendrils escaping to frame her face, making her already striking features stand out even more.

Gil had been so busy fretting over Malcolm that he only noticed how stunning she really looked as she spun back to face him, her tailored coat cinching at the waist and emphasizing her hourglass figure. "You look—" Gil faltered, unable to find a word that did her justice.

"Beautiful? Amazing? Gorgeous?" Jackie laughed, tucking her fingers into Gil's suit jacket and pulling him down for a kiss, only to playfully push him away with a giggle when he tried to deepen it. "Don't muss my makeup, love."

By the time he opened the door and ushered her outside, some of the tension that had been festering inside of him since that afternoon was finally starting to abate. The kid was eating and seemed to have relaxed a little, and Gil was taking his beautiful wife out for a night on the town. He grabbed his coat and held out an arm for Jackie, leading her from the house and calling out, "Have a good night, kid," over his shoulder as he pulled the door closed behind them.

They were maybe five minutes away from the house when Jackie brought a hand up to her neck and quietly sighed, but Gil could hear the disappointment in the sound. Gil looked over in concern, but Jackie just shook her head, saying, "I forgot my necklace in the bathroom."

Normally, it wouldn't be a big deal, but the necklace was a family heirloom; she had wanted to wear it tonight to honour her mother, who had once performed in a production of the show they were attending. Gil thought back to pulling Jackie from the bathroom to discuss his concerns about Malcolm, realizing that her necklace had been on the countertop, and she’d never gone back for it. A quick look at his watch told him they still had time before they needed to be at the theater, so he made a left turn at the next intersection to turn the car back to the house.

"It's fine, love, I don't need it," Jackie said, reaching across the bench seat to take Gil's hand in hers. With a smile, he brought her hand to his lips, placing a light kiss to her knuckles and giving her fingers a squeeze.

"We have time," he assured her, "and I know how much it means to you to wear it tonight."

Their hands remained intertwined for the short ride back to the house. Gil gave one last kiss to her knuckles, smiling as he said, "I'll be right back; don't leave without me."

"I might be persuaded to wait for you," Jackie teased, "so long as you promise to bring me something pretty."

"How about an antique necklace, lovingly cared for by generations of amazing women?" Gil offered as he opened the door and slid out of the car. As he walked towards the house, he could hear her window rolling down, the sound of the squeaky handle cutting into the quiet of the early evening.

"I _suppose_ that will do. Just hurry back, I don't want to be that couple that shows up late and has to make everyone stand so we can get to our seats," she called out, knowing it was one of Gil's pet peeves when other couples did exactly that.

He offered a small wave of acknowledgement, chuckling under his breath as he unlocked the front door and made his way in. He stopped by the kitchen first, thinking Malcolm might still be having dinner and was surprised to see the lasagna still sitting on the table, untouched since they’d left.

Thinking Malcolm must be in his room, he made his way down the hall, planning to grab the necklace from the bathroom before checking Malcolm's bedroom to make sure he was settled in for the night and didn't need anything.

He noticed the light was on in the bathroom, but since the door was open he thought nothing of it until he was standing just outside the door and could hear Malcolm's breath catching as he worked hard to hold back a sob. Gil frowned, recognizing the sound from so many instances in the dead of night when Malcolm would wake up screaming and thrashing, and Gil would hold him close until he could calm himself down. Malcolm was often on the verge of hysterics when that happened but would always fight so hard to hold back his emotions, to be strong. The sound never failed to break Gil's heart.

He started moving immediately, the need to comfort the kid and find out what the hell was going on pushing him to move forward, walking into the bathroom without knocking. He was two steps into the room when his stomach dropped and his breath caught in his throat.

Malcolm was sitting on the ledge of the bathtub, nestled in the corner, body wedged between the tile walls with his legs in the tub. His eyes were tightly closed, but that didn't stop the steady flow of tears streaming down his face. Gil was distantly aware that he was right about Malcolm trying to keep from crying as he saw the kid's chest hitching beneath his t-shirt. As heartbreaking as the sight would have been any other time, Gil couldn't see any of it.

Every single cell in his body was laser-focused on the gun pressed to the underside of Malcolm's chin, the kid's shaking hand barely able to hold the barrel still against his flesh.

Gil completely froze, just a moment, as a rapid succession of thoughts screamed through his head so quickly that he didn't have time to process a single one.

_I can't lose him._

_How did I miss this?_

_What the hell happened?_

_I have to stop this._

_How the fuck did Malcolm get into my gun safe?_

_I can't lose him._

Those thoughts and a thousand others flashed through Gil's head in the span of a second. It took another second after that before Gil, blood roaring in his ears, was able to find his voice and whisper, "Malcolm?"

Malcolm's eyes shot open, and Gil nearly vomited as he watched Malcolm's grip tighten around the gun, his trembling finger pressing down harder on the trigger than before.

"Please don't do this," Gil pleaded, his voice breaking on a sob that he couldn't hold back. He stayed where he was, planted in front of the vanity with his hands held out in front of him, trying to show Malcolm that he wasn't going to try anything rash, that he just wanted to talk.

All the years that Gil had spent with the NYPD had left him with a unique variety of terrible experiences under his belt. He'd been in shootouts, hostage situations, and high-speed chases gone wrong. He'd nearly been shot, stabbed, thrown off a roof, and, most memorably, poisoned. He'd lost a partner during what should have been a routine traffic stop. Every single one of those moments was frozen in time in Gil's memory with the kind of perfect clarity only trauma can give. Time had a tendency to freeze in those moments, giving Gil's mind the opportunity to commit each detail to memory so he could relive every _what if_ and _should have_ over and over for years to come.

And so, in the agonizing seconds that he waited for Malcolm's response, his mind cataloged every single detail in the room. From the way the faucet behind him was dripping slightly, to the way the towels were pushed to one side of the towel bar (and it would be weeks before he realized that Malcolm had pushed them over so they wouldn't get blood splatter on them). He noticed for the first time the way the fourth tile up, the one just above Malcolm's shoulder, seemed to have come from a different batch than the rest of the tiles in the shower, just a shade lighter than all the others. Memorized for all eternity the fact that a lightbulb needed to be changed, that the toilet paper roll had been placed backwards, that the shower curtain had torn off of one of the rings. All things that didn't matter, but that he would never be able to forget.

Those little details he could learn to forgive, but forever burned into his memory was also the fear and shame etched in every line on Malcolm's face, the way the kid's body tensed up and recoiled from him as if Gil was a threat, the way the kid was trembling so hard that Gil was certain the shower walls were the only thing keeping him upright.

"Gil, w-what are you…?" Malcolm finally breathed out.

"Forgot Jackie's necklace," Gil said, tilting his head towards the vanity and watching as Malcolm's eyes drifted over to take in the delicate piece of gold on the countertop. "Can we talk about this? Please?" Gil was fighting every instinct in his body to just rush over and grab the gun from Malcolm's hands, terrified that the smallest move could startle him and accidentally — or purposely — set it off.

He watched Malcolm swallow his emotions, the bob of his Adam's apple especially noticeable to Gil, whose gaze kept dropping to the gun. "You should go," Malcolm said after a moment of struggling for calm, drawing Gil's eyes back to his face.

"You know I can't do that, kid," Gil said as he slowly started to lower his arms to his sides. He could still feel the panic raging through his system, but years of training had begun to kick in, helping to slow his heart rate and clear his thoughts. Now, more than ever, he couldn't afford to make a mistake; he needed to remain level-headed if he was going to be able to talk Malcolm down.

Malcolm's bottom lip began to quiver, his voice shuddering as he tried to warn Gil away, "You shouldn't have to see this."

He could tell that Malcolm was genuinely distressed about Gil having to watch as he killed himself, and Gil decided that he could work with that. If it took guilt to get Malcolm to hand over the gun, then so be it. They could deal with everything else once the gun was safely locked away.

"You're right. Because I would never be able to forget that," Gil said, taking a tiny step forward when Malcolm's eyes closed, face crumpling in despair. "Just like I'd never be able to stop asking what I could have done differently. And how I would never forgive myself for leaving you alone in the house with my gun." Another half-step. It was barely noticeable, but he thought he might be within lunging distance, if worse came to worst.

Gil thought his heart couldn't possibly ache more than it already did, but the heartbroken sob that came from Malcolm absolutely shattered him. He wanted nothing more than to wrap him in his arms and take away all of his worries, let him just be a kid again.

"Malcolm, please," Gil tried, sensing that things were about to end, one way or another. "I love you so much. Please don't do this."

The wave of relief that swept over him as Malcolm lowered the gun nearly knocked Gil off his feet. Malcolm all but collapsed in defeat, the gun held loose in his hand as he dropped his arms to his knees and started to convulse with tears.

Gil moved fast. He stepped into the tub and gently pulled the gun from Malcolm's hand, ejecting the magazine and clearing the chamber before setting the gun down outside of the bathtub. As soon as the threat was out of the way, he knelt down in front of Malcolm and wrapped him in his arms, holding him so tight it must have hurt, but Gil couldn't seem to force himself to let go.

Gil's own tears came fast and hard as he held Malcolm's trembling form in his arms, but he could tell that Malcolm wasn't the only one shaking. His own body was ready to buckle, but he held himself strong for the terrified kid that was struggling to catch a breath.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but eventually Gil heard the sound of high heels coming down the hall and he turned his head to see Jackie in the doorway, her watchful eyes taking in the crying men and the gun on the ground. Her hands shot to her mouth and tears began to well in her eyes as she realized what had happened.

Malcolm's face was still buried in Gil's shoulder, likely unaware that Jackie had come to see what was taking so long, so Gil just nodded towards his service weapon, silently pleading with her to get it as far from Malcolm as she could. She nodded as silent tears smudged her mascara and streaked her face, quietly moving in and crouching down to pick up the pieces. She left the room quickly, and Gil heard her tapping footfalls as she made her way down the hall to their bedroom.

Within minutes, Jackie padded back in, her now-bare feet hiding her advance, and Gil only became aware of her approach as she stepped into the bathtub beside him and draped a blanket over Malcolm's shoulders.

Malcolm startled in his arms, but Gil just held him closer and began whispering a string of assurances into the kid's ear. Jackie ended up sitting on the ledge beside Malcolm, wrapping an arm over his hunched back, providing steady strength and love through her presence alone.

The three of them stayed like that until Malcolm's tears had stopped and his exhausted body slumped against Gil. Years of marriage had perfected Gil and Jackie's ability to communicate with a look, so with just one red-rimmed glance at Jackie, she began helping Malcolm to his feet, tucking the blanket tightly around him as she led him out of the tub and to his bedroom.

It took a moment for Gil to get to his feet, his legs cramped and tingling from kneeling in the bathtub for so long, but as soon as he stepped out, he was lunging for the toilet, the adrenaline in his system causing his stomach to heave with a suddenness that left him lightheaded and shaking once again. He threw up until there was nothing left but stomach acid and then slumped against the wall, waiting to regain control of his body.

When the shaking finally subsided, Gil got to his feet and gave his teeth a quick brush, gargling with mouthwash to clear the taste of vomit. With a quick splash of water on his face, he was heading to Malcolm's room, ready to take the next steps.

Jackie had kept the lights off so that only the soft glow of the bathroom lights down the hall illuminated the scene. Gil walked in to find Malcolm curled up on his bed, pressed up against Jackie's leg where she was sitting beside him, leaning up against the headboard. She was gently brushing her fingers through his hair, a soothing gesture not uncommon for her, but even from where Gil was standing, he could tell the kid was already out cold.

Jackie looked up when Gil walked in and gestured him over to the bedside.

"Stay with him. I'll go make the phone calls." She whispered, getting to her feet and wrapping her arms around his waist. He pressed his face into her hair and breathed in the scent of her shampoo, taking comfort in her presence in much the same way Malcolm always did.

"If you hadn't forgotten your necklace…" Gil said quietly, an unexpected tightness squeezing around his chest and breaking the words.

"He's safe now," Jackie said squeezing him tightly, not needing him to finish the thought. "And we'll make sure he stays that way."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and they broke apart, Jackie heading out to call Jessica and a crisis hotline to find out the next steps, Gil moving to take Jackie's place on the bed next to Malcolm. As if sensing his presence, Malcolm moved closer to Gil, whether seeking comfort or warmth, Gil wasn't sure, but he dropped a hand to rest on the back of Malcolm's neck like he used to when he was just a boy, and Malcolm seemed to relax into the touch.

He stayed like that all night, keeping watch over Malcolm even when Jessica came bustling into the room with tears in her eyes and look of mingled terror and fury contorting her features. Fortunately, one look at Malcolm, safe and content curled up next to Gil, kept her silent, letting Malcolm get the rest he so clearly needed. She left Malcolm in Gil's care, spending the night in the kitchen with Jackie instead, the two women arranging everything that needed to be done, come morning.

Malcolm was the only one who slept that night.

Gil had trouble sleeping for weeks afterwards.

***

It takes longer than he'd like, but Gil's heart does finally settle to a more natural pace as the adrenaline fades away, fear and anger slowly replaced by a profound gratitude that Malcolm is still there to yell at about gun safety and reckless behavior.

He reaches across the car, resting his hand on the juncture of Bright's neck and shoulder, something he's been doing since that night to comfort them both. For Bright, it's a reminder that he's loved and that he has someone to live for even in the darkest moments. For Gil, it's a tangible reminder that Malcolm survived.

"You can't do that again, kid," Gil says, far more calmly this time, giving Malcolm's neck a squeeze to tell him that he forgives him, that he loves him.

"Never again, Gil. I promise," Malcolm says earnestly.

And Gil believes him.


End file.
